


Fire and Life and Pumpkin Suits

by GrayJay



Category: Daughters of the Dragon, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Outrageous Fortune, forgotten canon, slumber party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 05:16:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3838507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrayJay/pseuds/GrayJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Ohhhhh, shit,” says Misty. “Now it’s really a slumber party.” Jean’s face lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree, and Colleen grins like a Cheshire cat.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire and Life and Pumpkin Suits

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the brief era when Jean and Misty were roommates.

“Misty,” says Jean. “ _Miiisty_. You know what?”

“What?” says Misty. Jean gets intense when she’s stoned; one time Misty watched her climb onto the roof and give a rousing speech about mutant unity to God and the pigeons.

Jean dissolves into giggles.

“Well,” Misty tells her. “Good thing we settled that one.” She passes Colleen the joint, shaking her head because she cannot get over how effortlessly Colleen makes this shit look classy, like something off the poster for a noir flick. Actually, just about everything Colleen does looks like it should be off the poster for a noir flick. “You elegant bitch. You need one of those long cigarette holders, or something.”

“Ooh, yeah,” says Jean. “And maybe, like, a silk robe and a chaise lounge.”

“I could get into that,” says Colleen. Fuck, girl even coughs elegantly. “Do I get a bunch of boys in loincloths bringing me grapes?”

“Totally,” says Jean. “Like, dozens. Wait, hold that there, I want to try something.” She narrows her eyes, and there’s a stream of smoke from Colleen’s hand to her mouth. Jean holds her breath, then bursts out coughing. “ _Fuck_.”

“Showoff,” says Misty. Catches Colleen’s wrist, and after she’s taken a drag, lets her lips linger for a moment on Colleen’s fingers. Colleen arches one perfect eyebrow, and her mouth curls into a subtle little smile.

Misty gets the giggles and can’t stop. Colleen just sits there with that arch smile on her face, joint burning down between her fingers, and says, “Misty fucking Knight, what am I going to do with you?”

Which makes it Misty’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Oh, you _bitch_ ,” says Colleen. “You _unbelievable bitch_.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” says Jean, when she’s finally done coughing. “I can head to my room, if you two want some privacy.”

Misty grins, all teeth. It’s her scary grin, the one she usually saves for dudes twice her size who think they’ve got a chance. “We shocking your delicate suburban sensibilities, Grey?”

Jean snorts. “Three’s a crowd.” Which Misty takes to mean that yes, Jean’s offended; but not for the reason Misty thought.

Jean’s already started to stand up, and Misty reaches to grab her wrist. “Jeannie. Stay, baby. We’ll be good.”

“I’ll bet,” says Jean, scowling, but she settles back down on the floor. Colleen stretches, catlike, and somehow ends up with her head on Jean’s lap. Jean runs her hands through Colleen’s hair, starts to braid like it’s a reflex.

“Ohhhhh, shit,” says Misty. “Now it’s really a slumber party.” Jean’s face lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree, and Colleen grins like a Cheshire cat.

Misty meanders in the kitchen, and by the time she’s back with most of a bottle of bottom-shelf cab and three mugs, and a bag of marshmallows, Jean and Colleen are rifling through a shoebox full of nail polish.

“Where’d you get that much nail polish?” Misty asks. Superheroing is pretty hard on the hands, and she knows Jean keeps her nails filed short.

Jean shrugs, a little sheepishly. “Here and there.” Jean makes fun of her own vanity, but she’s not _shy_ about it--her hair stuff alone takes up half the bathroom counter--and Misty wonders if there’s something else going on. _How funny would it be if perfect miss Jean Grey had a secret double life as a petty shoplifter?_ Misty thinks, and sees Jean’s eyes narrow, because, _oh, shit_ telepath. “Jesus, Misty. I didn’t _steal_ it.”

“You have to admit it’s funny, Red,” Misty says. “The idea of you, palming nail polish in Rite-Aid.” She’s never sure how much of other people’s casual thoughts Jean picks up--whether the pot’s making her sloppy about listening in, or about letting on.

“She wouldn’t have to palm it,” Colleen says, digging through the box. “She could just stand near the display and--” She wiggles her fingers, makes a _whoosh_ noise, and laughs.

“I don’t steal nail polish!” Jean insists, but she’s giggling again, too. “Only evil mutants steal nail polish. _Magneto_ steals nail polish.”

The image of the master of magnetism--in full costume, of course--surreptitiously slipping nail polish into his pockets is just too damn much. Misty’s laughing so hard she has to put down the mugs to keep from dropping them, and flops down across the couch, gasping for breath. “Oh. My. God. I am never going to be able to keep a straight face around that man again.”

“Could you before?” Colleen asks. “I mean. Purple and red? _Magneto,_ for chrissake? He sounds like he should be the toy in a cereal box.”

Jean giggles. “He’s such a weirdo. The first time we fought him, he’d written a ransom note in the sky, in iron filings or something. Signed and everything. And Bobby said something about _Surrender Dorothy_ , and I almost lost it. I was scared out of my mind--I mean, it was basically our first time in the field--and I kept worrying I was going to crack up in front of some military brass and that’d be the end of the X-Men.” She laughs and runs a hand through her hair. “God, everything was so much simpler back then.”

Colleen sips her wine. “ _Back then_ , Grandma? It’s been, what, four years, five?”

“Yeah,” says Jean, “But I was like seventeen, so it might as well be forever.”

“You know that’s some fucking insane child-soldier shit, right?” Misty asks her. The X-Men freak her the hell out--not the powers, she’s cool with powers, but the way the cluster like some kind of cult. Children of the X. Wonders if any of them know how fucked up it is. At least the new batch looks old enough to vote, mostly.

Misty looks to Colleen for backup, but Colleen just shrugs. “Don’t look at me. I got my first sword at four.”

“Yeah,” Misty points out, “but your granddad didn’t dress you in yellow and send you off to fight Magneto.”

“Drop it, Misty,” Jean says. Narrows her eyes and throws back the rest of the wine in her mug, then refills it. “You don’t know shit.”

“Down, Tiger,” says Colleen. “Chill, or you’ll fuck up my manicure.” She finishes rooting through the box, passes Jean a couple bottles of polish, and splays her fingers, effortless, elegant. Jean laughs.

“You two are fucking crazy, you know that?” Misty tells them.

“Mmm,” says Colleen. “If this is a slumber party, I think we should call boys and hang up when they answer. I think we should call Danny.”

“I think you should shut the fuck up,” says Misty, but she’s laughing, too. She can play this game. “Or put your money where your mouth is, and call X-Boy.”

“Jesus, Misty.” Colleen flashes Misty a Look, and then glances back to Jean. Scott--or, rather, _Scott and Colleen_ \--is one of those things they all make a point of not talking about, and no one wants to deal with a pissed off, high telekinetic.

But Jean just laughs. “Can you imagine if Colleen and I called on the same line? I think he might actually die.” Pouts, puppy-eyed. “Don’t kill my boyfriend, Misty. He’s a very good superhero.”

“We’ve noticed,” says Misty. Grins her wickedest grin at Colleen. “How many times did you two go out, anyway?”

“Only once,” says Colleen. “Worst date ever. He kept talking about Jean, and Arcade nabbed us like five minutes in.” She nods over at Jean, who’s doing something hands-free to Colleen’s nails. “No offense.”

“None taken,” says Jean. “I can’t believe he did that. No, that’s a not true--I can totally believe he did that. I can’t believe _you_ let him get away with it.”

“In my defense, he is _awfully_ pretty,” says Colleen. “But seriously, Jean, your boy is a little bit fucked in the head. You know that, right?”

“Oh, my god,” says Jean. “Seriously, you have no idea.” Squints, and Colleen’s nails are dry, just like that. “We should totally call him.” Before Colleen can protest, she’s whipped out her phone and dialed. “Hi, sweetie. What? No, I’m good. I’m glorious. I’m fire and life incarnate. Did you really talk about me when you went out with Colleen?” Misty can’t hear what Scott says, but whatever it is, it’s enough to make Jean dissolve into giggles.

Misty confiscates the phone. “Hi, Scott,” she says. “Sorry we broke your girlfriend.” She’s only met him a few times, but she likes Scott okay--he gets shit done, even if he has no clue how to talk to women.

“Is this Misty?” he asks. “What the hell is going on? Is Jean okay?”

“She’s fine,” says Misty, “aside from being high as a goddamn kite. Go back to sleep.”

“You know it’s three A.M., right? And aren’t you a _cop_?”

“We are having a slumber party,” she tells him.

“I’m hanging up,” he tells her, and does.

“I am so glad you’re not my girlfriend,” Colleen tells Jean, who only laughs harder.

“I’m an _awesome_ girlfriend,” Jean says. “Aren’t I, Misty?”

“Any guy would be lucky to have you,” Misty tells her, and manages to keep her face straight for a whole five seconds.

The high is starting to fade, and it’s almost sunrise, so they drag blankets into the living room and curl up on the couch to watch _Outrageous Fortune_ and kill the last of the wine.

“Never sew a pumpkin costume for a man,” Colleen says. “Men are pigs.” She’s leaned into Misty’s shoulder, and Misty can feel every lump in her messy french braids.

“Except George Carlin,” Jean pipes up from where she’s lying with her head on Colleen’s lap. Jean will defend the good ones to the grave. It’s the thing Misty loves and hates most about her.

“Yeah,” says Misty. “George Carlin’s okay. He gets a pumpkin suit.” She runs a knuckle across Colleen’s cheek. 

Colleen sighs and nuzzles a little closer. “I’d make you a pumpkin suit. If I could sew.”

“I can,” says Jean, sleepily. “It’s not that hard. Geometry and power tools.”

“See?” says Colleen. “There you go. Pumpkin suits all around.”

“Shhhh,” says Jean, pointing at the screen. “She’s gonna jump.” She clutches Colleen’s hand, and Colleen clutches Misty’s, and when Shelly Bond touches down on the far side of the ravine, they all leap up and cheer.

* * *

Misty wakes up trapped under Colleen, who’s elegant even fast asleep, drooling into her pillow, fingers still twined through Jean’s. Thinks for a minute about her ridiculous goddamn life: the roommate who’s a model-cum-cosmic-force; the--whatever Colleen is--who’s--whatever Colleen is. Misty knows better than to try to name some things. 

Before long, Jean’ll wake up, and Misty’ll bully or wheedle her into making pancakes--cosmic forces don’t get hangovers--and later they’ll all go off and do what they do, kiss their men and fight their wars. She wonders if the X-Men do this--did this, more likely, back in the day, Jean and the boys. It’s easy to picture.

“Sometimes,” says Jean, and Misty jumps. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry--just waking up, stuff slips in.” She sends Misty a mental image of the five of them, sacked out on a couch, Bobby’s hand still half-submerged in a tub of popcorn.

“You ever miss that?” Misty asks. “Living with your team?”

“I live with my team,” says Jean. “Team Pumpkin Suits.”

Misty laughs. On her chest, Colleen mumbles something and burrows deeper into the blankets. “Col doesn’t live here.”

“Might as well,” says Jean, stretching back over the arm of the couch. “Cool by me. ”

Misty runs her fingertips over the unfamiliar weight and smoothness of her nails: dark blue, with silver sparkles clustered at the base. “You ever gonna tell me where the nail polish came from?” she asks. 

“No,” says Jean. “But I’ll make you pancakes.”

And she does.


End file.
